


Blue Skys

by Silence_Speaker



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: (No actual werewolves...or supernatural), Brief Mention of Violence, Gen, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 14:18:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2113125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silence_Speaker/pseuds/Silence_Speaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Prompt:</p>
<p>
  <em>Martin is in the portakabin late finishing his log books one night when some of Gordon's goons come in, with the express purpose of making sure MJN folds by making sure that Carolyn's 'free pilot' Martin can never fly again.<br/>When he realizes what their intent is, Martin fights like a cornered honey badger. The goons never knew what hit them.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Skys

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Cabin Pressure or this prompt. Woe is me.
> 
> (Apologies, this is a rather crappy one-shot.)
> 
> (Okay...listening to the theme of firefly on repeat...you can’t take the sky from me...)

#

 

Martin sighed, putting down his pen, a sturdy biro, and arched his back groaning in satisfaction as it cracked. He blinked at the windows; it was fairly dark outside, how long had he been sat there doing the log book?

He stretched out his fingers, twirling the pen and eyeing his empty mug wistfully. He really was quite thirsty and could do with a cup of tea. Well, he’d get one once he got back to his attic.

He stood, picking up his hat.

A sneeze from outside the small cabin sounded even louder simply because it was so quiet.

Martin jumped slightly at the noise and grinned ruefully at himself, there was no point getting jumpy at nothing.

A muffled curse followed a second sneeze.

Martin wondered who would be outside the cabin at this time of night; it wasn’t too late, only eight, but it was winter so the sky was dark. He muffled a yawn, the last flight had been a long one and sleeping in a hotel was never nearly as restful as going to sleep in his own bed...especially considering the hotels Carolyn booked them into.

Another sneeze and Martin felt a surge of pity for the poor sod still working at the airfield at this time of night in the cold when the man so obviously was ill. He spied the empty mug and tissue box and picked them up too, before heading towards the door.

“You alright?” Martin asked, stepping out of the cabin and shivering in the chill night air his breath misting before him and the glow of the street lamps lighting up the airfield leaving pockets of shadow like some sort of horror film. He held out the box of tissues in offering.

The man seemed startled to see him; maybe he had a fever, but took the proffered tissue box, sniffing morosely into one of the white squares.

“Horribly bitter night, isn’t it?” Martin continued when the man remained stubbornly silent, electing to shiver miserably in the moonlight.

A grunt was the only reply he got.

“Why don’t we go get a cuppa? It’ll warm us up and hopefully help with that cold of yours.” Martin suggested cheerfully. He wouldn’t mind having tea here instead of at his attic and the small kitchenette area for the employees at Fitton airport was open at all times. Probably because the only thing in it was a sink and an ancient kettle that would probably be more expensive to steal than just leaving it there.

Occasionally Martin wondered if he was the only person who used it. Arthur made them drinks in GERTI and he swore the water level in the kettle never changed.

“Nah, I’m alright.” The man mumbled hoarsely.

“Okay then...I’ll just-just go back in then. Okay.” Martin said awkwardly, ducking back into the cabin that wasn’t really much warmer than outside.

A shrill ring tone cut through the silence and Martin jumped once again, dropping the tissue box on the ground and only just hanging onto the mug.

Muffled cursing once again sounded and Martin heard the man outside fumble for his phone and clumsily answer in with another sniff.

“Hello?”

Martin knew it was rather rude to listen to another’s conversation but he was worried the man outside had a fever or something! He had looked flushed.

“Yeah. _Sniff._ Well that’s kind of hard since _sniff_ he hasn’t yet left the godforsaken airfield. I thought you said to ambush him _sniff_ when he got to his home.”

Martin felt his eyebrows rise. What on earth did the man mean? Ambush? Where they perhaps planning a surprise birthday party or something? It was confusing only hearing one side of a conversation.

“Well you give it a bleedin’ try then! _Sniff_...For fu- alright, fine. Whatever... Yes, yes, I know. Rough him up so he can’t pilot a plane _sniff_ ever again. I’m not a fuckin amateur... Alright Mr Shappey, I got it.” The phone clicked shut and the man outside went into a sneezing fit, cursing all the while.

Martin blinked. Why would Arthur be calling that man? And what was that about not being able to pilot-

The door of the cabin slammed open and the man from outside burst inside, nose alarmingly red in such a pale face and wheezing slightly.

“Come here little birdy, time to clip your wings.” The man called out, voice cracking painfully in the middle.

“What do you mean?” Martin asked, baffled, when he realised the man was talking to him.

“Well _sniff_ I’m being paid to make sure you can’t ever fly again. So be a dear _sniff_ and make it easy for me.”

Martin stiffened a frisson of fear spinning down his spine that was lost in the haze of that first sentence running round in circles through his mind.

_‘never fly again...never be a pilot...clip your wings...’_

The voice murmured into his ear, taking on the voices his memory had stored every time someone told him he’d never achieve his dream. Bullies taunts, quiet attempts from his mother to get him to choose a more ‘sensible’ career, his father’s doubts...

To never be able to soar again, to be tethered to the earth, boxed in. Forced away from that indescribably wonderful sense of _freedom_.

Something snapped. 

(He would later find out it was the plastic in the rim of his hat.)

The man descended into another sneezing fit and Martin grabbed at this chance with two hands. He stepped forward and swung his arm feeling the solid thwack of flesh hitting china as his mug collided with the other man’s face. Painfully.

The man yowled (and sneezed). Martin swung again, this time the cup hit the man’s head and he stumbled about the room dizzily before collapsing on the ground in a dead faint.

Martin breathed out shakily. 

_No one_ could take the sky from him.

He grabbed his phone and quickly dialled nine-nine-nine. It rang once, twice, someone picked up and Martin opened his mouth just as another man entered the cabin.

This man looked perfectly healthy, not like ill like the man on the floor. Martin dropped the phone in shock as the new man with a bristling moustache _lunged_ for him.

Martin squeaked as he went down under the other man’s weight, a punch to his face making stars cross his vision. 

The moustache man yelled as his head struck the corner of the desk, Martin was just thankful he hadn’t done the same. His cheek throbbed from the blow.

Martin thrust his arm forward aiming for a punch but only managing to push his hat into the other man’s face. His other aim flailed a bit and stabbed at a fleshy shoulder with the biro he had never let go of.

He opened his eyes (when had he shut them?) and stabbed with more aim this time, actually driving the pen through the man’s hand.

The man yelled again and rolled off him.

Martin scrambled to his feet and dashed out the cabin, slamming the door shut and running smack bang into someone. Arms wrapped around him, restraining him.

Martin wriggled about and tried to kick (his feet didn’t connect with anything).

“It’s alright I’m not going to-Martin? Is that you?” 

Martin stilled.

“Dirk?”

Dirk stepped back and Martin blinked.

“So what’s got you in a tizzy? I heard shouts.” Dirk asked, a frown on his broad face.

Martin opened his mouth to begin explaining but the door of the cabin opened up and the man with the hairy moustache staggered out glaring at Martin before lunging for him again.

Before he could make contact with any part of Martin’s body Dirk stepped forward grappled with him until he was pinned to the ground, arms behind his back.

“Call the police, would you Martin? Actually, wait, why was this man attacking you? You didn’t say anything to him, did you?” Dirk asked.

Martin frowned indignantly. He wasn’t _that_ bad.

“I think...I think that Gordon Shappey hired them to make me unable to fly...” Martin said bemusedly.

Dirk blinked, pushing the moustache (it really was an intimidating specimen of facial hair) man’s face further into the ground.

“Well that’d be-wait, _them_?”

“Yeah, the other one’s on the ground. Knocked out. I hit him with my mug.” Martin explained. Dirk snorted.

“Right. Phone the police.”

Martin did so, retrieving his phone from the cabin and making sure the man-with-the-cold was still out.

“Why are you here?” Martin asked. “Not that I’m not grateful or anything, I just wondered why-”

“Why I was skulking about the airfield in the dead of night?” Dirk interrupted one eyebrow raised. “Haven’t you heard? I’m a horror on full moons.” Dirk grinned. “Nah, I left my house keys here and came back for them when I heard the scuffle.”

There was a pause.

"Call Carolyn too, she needs to know if it's to do with her ex."

 

#

 

“Are you alright?” Carolyn asked, alarmed, storming over to him

Martin nodded, feeling the bruise on his face ache with the movement.

“You didn’t get yourself shot or anything? Right? Only the police told me one of them had a gun.”

“What? He had a gun?!” Martin asked wide eyed. Carolyn blinked.

“Yes, didn’t you know? The beefy one who wouldn’t stop sniffling, I think he had a cold.”

“I’m quite glad he did have a cold.” Martin mumbled, he probably wouldn’t have been able to knock him out otherwise.


End file.
